


For the Man Who Has Everything

by Nighthaunting



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Other, chaos wins, horus-centric as in horus' general pov, mentions of all the primarchs, the bad end to end all bad ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6575446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nighthaunting/pseuds/Nighthaunting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legends of the Fall: What if Horus won, and got everything he thought he wanted?</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Man Who Has Everything

The Palace has been rebuilt, or as close to rebuilt as Horus understands it can be. When he first gave the order to Perturabo, couched in the niceties of a request and the indulgence of a reward–” _Brother, the honor of building anew is yours”–_ Horus had expected a set time period, the usual speed and quality of Iron Warriors’ building projects. It’s been a decade since the project was started. He hasn’t seen Perturabo for three years, but gets reports from the bowels of the Palace complex. Copies of copies of copies of requisitions for building materials, and wine. Copies of copies of copies of orders for Apothecaries to comb through the terrified human population of Terra again, for the latest round of recruits. Copies of copies of copies of casualty lists of the legionaries Lord Perturabo’s automaton bodyguards have slain for disturbing him with their presence.   


The Palace’s defenses were finished in the first month of rebuilding, every last trace of the Emperor’s fallen bastion destroyed to start again. The architecture is marvelous, the fortress impenetrable, and Horus turns a blind eye to the intricate Gothic labyrinth Perturabo is sealing himself into brick by brick.    


There are far fewer humans on Terra than there were before Horus’ ascent. The Emperor’s death was a shock-wave through the Warp, and those that didn’t die in the warpstorm that enveloped the planet or were killed in the battle itself have been subjected to being endlessly combed through for servants, and sacrifices, and genetic compatibility. Fulgrim and his Legion seemed to think that the Emperor’s death was the end; stopping their battle to hastily capture as many humans and fallen Astartes as they could before breaking to the Eye. Horus hasn’t seen Fulgrim  since then, and he doesn’t want to, no matter how many whispers he hears of his brother’s realm.   


No one is willing to speak of it, but Horus held his father’s corpse after the Emperor died. The Gods had roared exultation that rang and faded in Horus’ mind. He’d expected more than the sudden silence of the Gods after everything, but instead there was nothing but quiet. Horus looked out over the ravaged face of the Imperium and saw that he’d made himself master of a ruin of worlds burnt to spite his father; Legion after Legion turned from the greatest and most disciplined forces in the galaxy to rapidly disseminating warbands tearing into each other as much as the few remaining strongholds of the Loyalists.

Angron left Terra as soon as there was no more sport. Dorn died defending the Palace, Sanguinius died trying to stop Horus, and the Khan was slain by Fulgrim and Mortarion as they argued over who had more of a right to duel him. Roboute lives, for now, at Lorgar’s mercy; being too late to save anything or anyone when he’d finally arrived with reinforcements. Horus sees Roboute whenever he visits Lorgar, and every time he stretches out the time between his visits a little more. He doesn’t bother to hope that the next time Roboute will be dead or gone or turned or whatever Lorgar intends for him, Horus just doesn’t want to have to witness anything more than the end result.   


Magnus is there-and-gone, sliding in and out of perception, he appears to speak to Horus ostensibly out of brotherhood and alliance, but he appears in truth to riddle Horus about everything he’s done. To needle carefully at him until Horus snaps with impatience and Magnus can smile sedately and give his bitter, cryptic advice: the accusation that Horus dares to have orchestrated Magnus’ fall and yet regret his own writ in every glance. Horus thinks that whatever upset Magnus feels at Horus’ machinations–not all of them Horus’ own, even–is more put-on than Magnus would like to think, but he keeps his words to himself. Russ got wind of the trap waiting on Terra for all those rushing to the Emperor’s aid _somehow_ , and saved himself and his Legion from deaths at Angron’s bloody hands by the barest margins. It was a false reprieve, dodging a sure fate on Terra for a frantic run to Fenris only to find Magnus waiting there. Whenever Magnus appears he always invites Horus to see New Tizca, a city of glittering ice built out of the cracked-open remnants of the Fang, and says that Russ would be as pleased to host him as he is to host Magnus.   


Horus has the psychic ability of a stone and he knows it. Whatever Magnus did to make the sound of Russ’ screaming echo through the Warp so even he could hear it remains a mystery to him. If Horus has his way, whatever remains of Russ that Magnus keeps alive will remain a mystery to him as well.

The flagrant abuse of psychic power was enough to discomfit Mortarion into leaving Terra as well, claiming a pressing need to return to Barbarus that Horus accepted as gracefully as he possibly could when he’d already given orders for teams with flamers to cleanse every inch of the guest suites his brother inhabited. The rooms will never be clean by any stretch of the imagination, but charring everywhere his brother touched to ash and sealing that wing of the Palace permanently is enough to keep it from affecting the serfs and staff.   


Scouts sent to Caliban return as heralds of a grieving First Captain Luther, bringing news of the regrettable death of the Lion. There are enough breaks in the man’s explanation of how it happened to weep that Horus believes at least the emotion is genuine. The planet exploding just after the Lion declared his loyalty to Horus seems as unlikely as anything else that’s happened since Istvaan, but the Dark Angels swearing their fealty and his spies reporting Luther’s oathed campaign to destroy and capture the ‘Unforgiven’ who’ve been assigned the blame satisfies him enough to give his blessings and speed the Rock from the Sol system as quickly as possible. At times Horus likes to believe that the Lion really was loyal. At times he remembers Konrad–the Night Haunter, now, and only the Night Haunter–huddled with his Legion in the furthest, darkest reach of the Imperium, slowly teaching the unraveling Five Hundred Worlds the meaning of madness and fear, and he wonders if the Lion was every loyal to anyone but himself.   


Alpharius is taking a vast and thorough joy in reporting his attempts to infiltrate and dismantle Corax’ resistance. Horus doesn’t think he’s doing this for any other reason than to amuse himself and hasn’t been bothering to do more than glance at the reports, thank Alpharius for them, and have them filed away somewhere where doubtlessly Alpharius is waiting to steal away the evidence. As far as Horus is concerned, Corax is still alive and at least a credible threat on a local level, wherever it is Corax happens to be. Sometimes he gets news of sabotage and unrest; of garrisons turning on themselves in bloody escalation. This news is taken seriously, but Horus has seen too much of Chaos to discern any of it as proof that the Raven Guard has struck rather than entropy finally winning out. Either way, replacement troops are sent, garrisons are rebuilt, and Horus hands off another of Alpharius’ reports to an aide as soon as his brother–at least, Horus hopes–has left.   


There are nobles left on Terra, frantically trying to gain favor with their new Emperor. The first time someone referred to Horus by the title he was gratified, pleased and proud, ready to be the new Master of Mankind. Now Horus looks out across the teeming supplicants desperate for salvation, having seen the monsters and daemons and horrors, each one of them whimpering with praise for their Emperor, more loyal to him even than to his father in hope that he can save them, and sees that he is nothing but a master of rabble.   


The Imperium of Mankind is dying. Horus strides the corridors and hallways of his ever-growing Palace with scribes and aides and footmen jogging at his heels, true and rightful Emperor. Daily they bring him reports of trade fleets lost to the Warp, of worlds burning, of armies battling over the shreds and scraps of infrastructure. Horus sees no way to stop it. He gives orders and sends troops and demands concessions from the nobles. He sends messengers to his brothers, each withdrawn into their own concerns, and receives no reply. The Imperium of Mankind is burning, and Horus wears its crown and holds the smoking end of the match that lit the fire.  


He beseeches the Gods, once, in all their satisfied silence.   


He receives a whisper in reply.

“ _This is Chaos.”_

**Author's Note:**

> pardon the lack of mention for vulkan, but like ferrus, horus doesn’t bother mentioning him because he’s already been confirmed “dead”.
> 
> everything else that happens is up for interpretation to an extent, because this is horus’ view of it, and i wanted to leave some things to the imagination.
> 
> <3


End file.
